


One for a secret never to be told

by Oriberry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Jealous Harry, M/M, Pining, cocktails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29783379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oriberry/pseuds/Oriberry
Summary: In which an overly friendly bartender and liberal amount of alcohol lead to a wholly unexpected end to Draco's (and Harry's) evening. There's pining and jealousy, and cocktails and Hermione and Pansy being gossipy.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 100





	One for a secret never to be told

Sighing, Draco fiddled with his favourite solid silver dragon cufflinks that Harry had bought him for his twenty fifth birthday. Time he was getting going or Pansy would have his guts for garters but truth be told, he’d rather be curled up on his over-stuffed sofa, chilled sauvignon blanc in hand, reading the latest bodice ripper by Venetia Aubredon, rather than having to face another evening in Harry’s company, watching every woman within a five mile radius throw themselves at him. 

Ugh.

Draco sometimes wondered if he’d been cursed to spend his entire life inconveniently in love with Harry Potter, as some sort of punishment for being an entitled arse growing up. Life had been so much easier back then at Hogwarts, when they’d loathed each other in a wonderfully uncomplicated way rather than now, when they were close friends, their lives and friendships inextricably entwined. It was like he was being punished, over and over again, every single Friday night.

Draco had long accepted that his feelings for Harry was destined to be unreciprocated and had made his peace with it; it was enough that Harry was warm and fond and kind and funny, and that he’d been able to forgive Draco’s transgressions. Draco was content to bask in the glow that Harry generated, wherever he went, whoever he was with, soaking up whatever he was offered. 

It was enough, it really was.

But it didn’t mean that these nights out together weren’t some sort of exquisite torture, with the best saved for the last part of the evening, which was when - as part of an unspoken agreement between them - they took it in turns to escort one another home, shoulders brushing against each other, buzzing with alcohol, sometimes chatty, sometimes in comfortable silence; the silence of two people who had known each other more than half their lives. Torture, nothing more and nothing less. 

One final check in the mirror. Hair artistically tousled. Mossy green shirt setting off his eyes. New suit trousers from Savile Row. His armour all firmly in place. 

Time waits for no man.

*

Being Pansy’s turn to choose their Friday night venue, of course they were in Wizarding Mayfair at a bar with a hard-on for exposed brickwork and mismatched leather sofas. (Nobody who’s anybody would be seen dead in Dalston, darling.) 

Draco deduced from the steady flow of complaints being muttered against a background of vigorous cocktail shaking about what a bloody disgrace it was that there was no beer on tap, and what the bloody hell was aromatic gin when it was at home, that Ron, for one, was determined to hate it with every bone of his body.

To be fair, Draco himself had always had a love-hate relationship with cocktails, but not for the same reasons as Ron. On one hand with his potions master’s hat on, he appreciated the skill required to be a top-notch mixologist nearly as much as he enjoyed tasting the results. On the other, the choices available to him were sometimes overwhelming: enticing names evoking a more genteel world of cravats and garter belts: highballs, martinis, flips, and all of them delicious. 

He looked at his friends, all loose-limbed and giggly and a wave of fondness filled his throat for a moment, making it hard to swallow. Pansy holding court and dressed tonight in a barely-there red silk slip dress always swore by a mojito, heavy on the rum, light on the soda water; Luna, the group’s self-crowned captain of chaos, loved anything sickly sweet and the pinker the better. Greg always chose a pina colada for reasons best known to himself. And Harry’s favourite was a negroni. 

Turning back to peruse the menu, Draco dithered over whether he was in the mood for champagne or sharp citrus. An over-the-top throat clearing rudely intruded into his musings but when Draco looked up with a glare it was to the sight of a pair of the deepest blue eyes he’d ever seen fixed on him and a dazzling smile showing off to fine advantage teeth that even Hermione’s parents would approve of.

Draco blinked hard. And then again, for good measure.

“Alright there gorgeous? Need some help in deciding? The voice matched the appearance perfectly, smooth and sultry but Draco was still trying to absorb the fact a complete stranger had described him as ‘gorgeous’. 

The bartender carried on, unaware of the mental googling going on, allowing his eyes to drop to Draco’s lips, before dragging them back up again. He hummed, low and thoughtful. “Sex on the beach.” Draco spluttered a ‘I beg your pardon?’, certain his face must by now be a terrible shade of crimson that would clash horribly with his shirt. “That’s what I always go for.” The words were accompanied by a wink that from anyone else would be ridiculous but coming from six feet plus’ worth of sultry actually worked, if Draco’s belly was any indicator. It flipped and then it flopped.

“Oh,” Draco said, unable for the moment to respond with anything approximating his usual biting wit, and then immediately berated himself for standing there looking, he feared, like a lovesick teenager. Or worse, a hapless Gryffindor. (He resisted – just - the temptation to turn to see if any of his friends had clocked what was going on.) 

The man, however, seemed pleased to have rendered Draco completely speechless. He shot Draco another of those grins that should come with a health warning, eyes twinkling as he leaned over the bar to murmur in a conspiratorial way, “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. I’m sure I’d remember someone who looks the way you do.” 

The smile was more leer than cute now. Draco cursed his Malfoy genes as another wave of heat flushed over him. 

“Christ, Will, could you just keep it in your pants for once?” A second staff member crossed the floor to loom menacingly over the bartender. At least seven feet tall, he was exceedingly muscly. “You’re terrifying the poor guy.” Draco took a moment to wonder what his night was turning into and then gave up. His mind was too busy being boggled to be able to translate the wild flirting across the bar from him into anything that made any sense whatsoever. Will’s grin, all wide-eyed faux innocence, told Draco he was clearly a highly dangerous individual. “Come off it, Leo,” he scoffed, slapping him on the arm “as though I could scare off the clientele, even if I wanted to, let alone Blondie here.” 

Leo rolled his eyes, clearly used to his friend’s chat up lines. “Yes, well. Less banter, more keeping the customers happy. There’s a queue in case you hadn’t noticed so save the flirting for after-hours and get a move on.” 

Blue eyes twinkled. “I’m not scaring you, am I?” he asked Draco. Draco was still a bit tongue-tied, unused to this sort of intense flirting, but managed to shake his head. Will beckoned Draco to lean further across the bar. “Yeah, I thought not. But by way of an apology, how about I make it up to you by shouting you a drink of your choice?” 

“That’s really not necessary,” Draco demurred but Will shushed him. “My pleasure’s all mine, hot stuff,” he purred. 

Draco couldn’t help but be a bit disarmed, which Will seemed to take as a green light. Grinning again, he turned his back on Draco to free pour what looked like an extremely healthy measures of vodka, but not before he bestowed Draco with a final cheeky wink. 

Draco blushed some more. 

*

What with all the flustering and flirting, it was only when Draco re-joined the rest of his group that he noticed Will had scrawled his number on one of the paper coasters along with a ‘call me, hotshot’ and a winky face. He was still staring at it, shocked, when Harry cleared his throat, making Draco look up. Harry was staring at him hard, green eyes burning fierce and bright.

“Having fun were you, while the rest of us were waiting here, parched and waiting for our drinks?” His voice was deep and growly and Draco absolutely did not feel his cock plump out at the sound. Perhaps going for a close-fitting cut of suit had been a mistake. As he tried to subtly rearrange himself, Harry continued to actually look quite annoyed, which was weird because Draco hadn’t been that long waiting to be served, especially given how busy the bar was.

He shot Harry a tiny smirk while mouthing ‘Keep your hair on’ but Harry didn’t smile. In fact, if anything, the expression on his face hardened.

“What’s this?” Pansy asked, snatching up the coaster and then let out a gasp and clutched at a string of invisible pearls, the bloody drama queen. “No way, Draco. That guy.” She glanced over at the bar and Draco noticed that Harry turned his head as well, training his gaze on Will, who gave the table a cheery wave before mouthing ‘nice tits’. Pansy waved back. “That incredibly hot guy gave you his number.”

“No need to sound so surprised, Pansy,” Draco muttered. “I’m not that much of a dating disaster.” He took care to not look at Harry as he spoke. Being horribly in love with Harry Potter since he was fifteen (um, maybe closer to thirteen) had been his best kept secret that not even his closest friend knew about, and Draco very much intended to keep it that way for the rest of his natural life.

“What?” Harry said, frowning, and seeker-fast snatched the coaster from Pansy, ignoring her ‘oi, give it back right now’. He stared at the number for a beat too long and then huffed out a laugh. “What sort of sleazy guy does that?”

“I think it’s very romantic,” Luna said dreamily, twirling a paper parasol in the air, happily oblivious to the full blast of a glare directed her way that would obliterate most people, leaving only a small pile of ash in their place, before Harry broke it off to fix his attention back on Draco who shuffled in his seat. Sometimes, when Harry’s focus was centred on him like that, it was almost too much to handle. His heartbeat accelerated fast and he hoped nobody could hear the way his heart was beating out of his chest.

Was he having a heart attack? Draco wiggled a bit more, biting hard on his lip. Harry’s eyes dropped for a second and then flicked away. “I think it’s romantic too,” Draco said finally, taking a cautious sip of his drink, his eyes focused on the table. Christ, whatever was in this was strong and he took a moment to savour the burn of neat alcohol making its way down his throat while puzzling over why Harry’s gaze was burning a hole through his head. 

“You think it’s romantic?” Harry asked, mouth forming a soft moue of displeasure. 

“I’m not sure I’d call it romantic as such,” Pansy said, raising one perfectly sculpted brow. “But he is most definitely, deliciously hot.” Hermione whooped and high fived her before leaning back against Ron who was still alternating between scowling darkly at his pink raspberry cosmopolitan as if it had personally offended him, and prodding at the ice with grave suspicion.

“Honestly Ron, just try it rather than trying to stare it to death,” Hermione said fondly, giggling against his shoulder for a moment.

“I second that.” Luna’s voice was gentle. The parasol was now tucked into one of the braids framing her face. “I think he’s probably an impoverished writer finishing his first novel. Or maybe an artist, living in a garret. Definitely someone who suffers for his art.” 

Pansy snorted inelegantly while watching Hermione who had clearly given up on trying to cheer Ron up in favour of rummaging through her capacious handbag. “Male model more like. Life model. I bet he’s very well endowed.” She ignored Draco’s squawk of horror, turning her dark-eyed gaze on him, pinning him to the spot. “Did you manage to catch his name or were you too busy eye-fucking each other?” The words sounded even more obscene when said with Pansy’s crisp enunciation and Draco couldn’t help but notice out of the corner of his eye how Harry had stilled at Pansy’s words. 

Before he could process Harry’s increasingly weird reactions to Pansy’s admittedly crude line of questioning and the general conversation, Hermione emitted a shrill cry of triumph as she pulled from the depths of her bag the latest Witch Weekly, bearing an highly oiled torso on the cover below a title that screamed ‘Most Eligible Batchelor?’ in alarmingly large font. “Maybe he’s in here,” she said before Pansy pounced on it and began rifling frantically through the pages, long fingernails blood-red.

Draco still sometimes found it hard to reconcile Hermione Weasley Granger the legal hotshot with the Hermione Granger who had bonded with Pansy over their joint fixation with salacious celebrity gossip. His teenaged self would be pinching himself if he could have known how his adult self would be – of his own volition – friends with the Golden Trio and assorted disreputable hangers-on (Seamus, Dean and George Weasley to name but three off the top of head).

Draco wiped the slightly soppy look he knew was on his face and stirred his drink, careful to not make eye contact with Harry, whose eyes, he could feel, were still boring into him, hot and angry which was doing something uncomfortably deep in his belly. Like coils of molten steel.

Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up. His eyes met Harry’s, and his flesh prickled. For a moment, they carried on looking at each other, but then Harry broke his gaze away. He spoke no more that evening, choosing instead (as Draco observed him from beneath his lashes) to steadily work his way through the drinks menu as the night progressed. 

* 

Tonight as they left the bar Draco’s stomach was churning after Harry’s silent treatment over the course of the evening, during which they had both carefully occupied the time normally spent in horseplay and joking around with consuming the drinks that Will had very generously kept sending over to the table (‘on the house, lover boy’), that had seen Harry’s face become increasingly hard and angry. 

It was only a half an hour walk from the bar to Draco’s flat, winding their way through Shepherd Market, but Draco’s stomach was in knots. Harry was matching him stride for stride yet Draco couldn’t fail to notice that the physical gap between them was wide enough to drive a bus through. They were almost at Draco’s swanky penthouse overlooking Hyde Park before Harry spoke again. 

The tone of his voice made Draco’s jaw clench.

“Will you call that idiot?” 

Draco blinked, turning to look at him. “What?” He had no idea to what Harry was referring. Or to whom.

Harry was terse. “Don’t play dumb with me, Draco, and don’t treat me like an fool, I think I deserve at least that. Are you going to call him?” 

Draco immediately bristled at his tone. “I don’t owe you anything. And I don’t see why not. He seemed keen and I’m single.” 

Harry huffed, keeping his gaze averted. “Yeah, sure. He looked your type.” 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Draco snapped. 

Harry ground his teeth. “You know fuck all about him. He could be a serial killer or anything.” 

Draco's grin showed too many teeth. “Well, Deputy Head Auror, I suppose there’s only one way to find out. By giving him a call. And now you’re finally talking to me, riddle me this. Why are you being so difficult all of a sudden? You've been a complete arse all evening, sitting there looking like you were sucking on a lemon.”

Harry said nothing but he looked furious.

“Harry, you are being ridiculous. It’s not like you’re my mother or anything. I can date whoever I want. I'm nearly thirty years old."

Harry glowered at him. “I’m ridiculous? You’re the one, Draco, who's taking a punt on someone who might lock you up in his cellar and keep you as some sort of sex slave.”

Draco laughed, a bitter sound. “Jesus Fuck. You’re jealous. Is this what that was all about? You’re jealous that I have a date, because you haven’t been with anyone since you and Ginny broke up.” 

“I’d never be jealous of you,” Harry all but shouted. 

By now they had reached Draco’s apartment block but instead of just calling it quits and like a normal, sensible person putting all of this nonsense down to the excessive amounts of alcohol they’d got through, something made Draco unwilling to back down. Arms folded, he stared at Harry. The glare was returned with interest, and Draco could feel pressure building in his chest, wanting to burst out.

And then - oh no -it felt as if he’d been doused in ice-cold water. Harry wasn’t jealous of Draco. Of course he wouldn’t be jealous of someone like Draco. No. It was because he liked – what was his name again? Will. Yes Will. Well if that wasn’t just the story of Draco’s life, that Harry would like someone fit and toned and brash and dark and everything Draco wasn’t. 

All of the fire and fight in him was extinguished, leaving Draco feeling small and deflated. He hated how he sounded, quiet and soft and a bit sad and vulnerable, but he had to ask, to be sure. And find some new friends while he was at it.

“So - if you’re not jealous of me, are you jealous of him? I mean, he was pretty…”

Harry stared down at his shoes, a frown on his face. They were brown (ye gods), scuffed beyond repair and had clearly never seen the bristles of a polishing brush so Draco could well understand why he might be a bit ashamed at the state of them.

“Well?” Draco asked, sharp and fearful.

“I broke up with Ginny because of you,” Harry finally muttered. When he flicked his eyes up to settle on Draco’s, there was an angry flush from his cheeks down to the bit of skin where his shirt had come undone.

Draco licked his lips because he loved the hollow of Harry’s throat, so soft and kissable, and then the words registered with him. “What?” he yelped, incredulity flooding his voice. “What did you just say?”

Harry took an involuntary step backwards, stopping only when his back hit the railing. He flailed around a bit, like a drunken squid. “Ouch. Fucking hell, that hurt.” Harry’s eyes darted away, as if he was seeking an escape route but Draco wasn’t about to let him get away with this. He advanced on Harry, slow and prowling, as something akin to hope flooded his veins. Harry stopped still, eyeing Draco warily. 

“What. The. Everlasting. Fuck. Are. You. Talking. About?” Draco’s voice had gone high and posh. “Do you mean to tell me-?” 

Harry hung his head, defeated. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered. “I wanted to spend all my time with you, not her. I always wanted-” His words faded off, his faced closed off making it impossible for Draco to read him. Luckily Draco was too busy spluttering in a mix of shock and disbelief to worry about this. “You absolutely prize idiot. That was – that was nearly three years ago. What the actual fuck?”

“What the hell was I supposed to say, 'hi Draco surprise! I’m in love with you and by the way I’m bi'?” Harry was sounding belligerent, spitting like an angry cornered cat.

They were properly shouting at each other now and someone flung open their window to tell them in no uncertain terms that they were bringing the neighbourhood into disrepute and would they kindly take their fight somewhere less exclusive. Adrenalin was surging through Draco.

“Anything! Something! I’ve been in love with you since – since forever, you absolute pillock!” 

Harry froze. “How long?”

Draco shrugs, feeling defeated. “The Yule Ball. Maybe before then.”

Draco took a moment to admire how despite having the equivalent of a bottle of gin and a bottle of vodka fighting for dominance in his bloodstream Harry was still able to lunge that fast to close the gap between them. And then his mind helpfully shut down because they were kissing. Harry’s mouth was warm, his tongue sliding slick against Draco’s. Draco found his hands tangled in Harry’s bird’s nest hair, soft beneath his fingers, holding him in place. They kissed for a moment, for an hour, for ever.

Harry finally pulled away, Draco whimpering at the loss of him until he received a lick and a suck to that sensitive bit of flesh beneath his ear. Being marked. The whimper turned all too quickly into an undignified moan. Harry smiled evilly, eyes crinkling at the corners and Draco huffed out a tiny laugh against Harry’s hair before nipping his earlobe in return. He heard a sharp intake of breath and made a mental note to repeat that as soon as humanly possible and see what other tantalising noises he could elicit from Harry.

He leaned back to admire Harry, whose face was heat flushed and Draco was suddenly harder than he’d been in years. Maybe since that time when he’d caught Harry coming out of the showers after a particularly gruelling quidditch match. That trail of dark hair and the most interesting bulge beneath an obscenely tiny towel had kept Draco fuelled with enough wank material to last him a life time.

“Fucking hell, Harry, I wish we’d done that earlier. Sooner, instead of waiting almost half my life to find out what you taste like, feel like, smell like.”  
Harry said nothing for a long moment, face inscrutable and Draco’s euphoria is replaced with panic, fearful that he’d read this all wrong. 

But then Harry spoke, his voice hoarse and low. “My own favourite Slytherin.” 

Draco, relieved, allowed himself a light laugh. “Well, in that case, a nightcap perhaps. I”

Harry’s smile is blinding. “It would be rude to say ‘no’” and pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Draco’s mouth. There was a tiny pause. “I’m very much hoping that Sex on the Beach might still be on the cards.”

Draco’s laugh this time was much more confident. “If you play them, right, Harry, if you play your cards right,” and he grabbed Harry by the hand to pull him inside.


End file.
